


Murder on the Ice Rink

by flammablehat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat





	Murder on the Ice Rink

Arthur swung around the defense in a whirl that looked something like an accidental double axle and cut his skates hard, dodging a stick that darted between his ankles like a viper. The puck bounced, caught the flat of his own taped blade and settled against a tiny bank of shaved ice. Valiant was sliding in on his right, Myror racing from the left, and Arthur fed the net a zinging goal seconds before they crunched him between them.

  
The boys didn’t favor his two broken ribs or black eye at all, happily tousling his whole head and punching him in the sides as if they were aiming for the soft spots, like they wanted a piece of the cost of victory for themselves. Arthur gave it happily, grinning, tasting the blood staining his teeth. He felt savage. He figured he probably looked it, too, tonguing a loose molar with curious indifference to the sharp melody of pain weaving together with all the deeper bass notes. Just background music.

Gwaine was staring, eyes dark under his sweat lank hair. Arthur bared his teeth.

“Alright boys, clear the fucking room. Captain and I need to strategize,” Gwaine shouted, and the lockers echoed with hoots and catcalls. Percy made a kissy mouth at Arthur and got a face full of locker for his trouble, but he just laughed, batting off Arthur’s hands and spinning towards the door, looping himself an armful of Leon before stumbling over the threshold.

There was only the sound of damp and Gwaine’s shoulder guards hitting the tile before Arthur shoved him back, cheap metal protesting the impact.

“Patience, Princess,” Gwaine cooed, fingers quick at the laces of Arthur’s pants, riding the heavy grind of Arthur’s hips.

“Fuck you.”

“Win us the cup first,” Gwaine said, blowing a stream of cool air over the enflamed arch of Arthur’s cheek. He reeled back in time to avoid Arthur’s snapping teeth.

Gwaine laughed, digging his hands into the hot close triangle of Arthur’s groin, tugging the damp fuzz over the flat muscle twitching around the root of his captain’s cock. “Come _on_ , Greene,” Arthur bit out, jolting him hard against the dented locker again.

“Ready for it, are we?” Gwaine hummed. He grabbed a handful of Arthur’s balls and rolled them around in his palm, grinning at Arthur’s hissed breath, the snarl of his mouth. Arthur slammed him back a third time, fingers sharp, tight in the tendons strapping shoulder to neck, and Gwaine’s grin tipped into a grimace. “Enough of that, now,” he said, and pushed Arthur hard, sending him sprawling over the back of a bench. He followed nimbly, pinning Arthur to the ground with his weight and working both hands around Arthur’s fat cock before he could be bucked off or kneed in the nuts.

“Son of a bitch,” Arthur hissed, abs tensed up so hard he half curled up off the floor in spite of Gwaine sitting practically on top of him.

“You’re so close, baby,” Gwaine taunted, sing-song, tugging vicious and fast on Arthur’s dick, one hand wringing the shaft while the other plucked at the slick bulgy glans. “I can feel you, I can _smell_ you.”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Arthur snarled, catching Gwaine’s wrist with one hand and using the other to push his cock down, towards Gwaine’s gut, spraying them both with come. He fell back, cock jerking a last weak spatter against his belly, in the deep muscled cut between thigh and groin.

“Dammit, Arthur,” Gwaine sighed, wiping at the jizz on his uniform and only succeeding in digging the stain in deeper. Arthur burbled with laughter, lolling a bit on the floor, tucking his hands beneath his head.

“Clean me up, vassal,” he smiled, eyes flicking down his body to the drops collected along his hip.

Gwaine leaned in, accommodating, tongue rough like a dog’s against Arthur’s skin. “Y’know what Percy calls this?”

“A typical Saturday night?” Arthur lifted an eyebrow, voice low and thick with satisfaction. Gwaine chuckled, nipping at Arthur’s bellybutton.

“No. This,” he said, drawing his finger along the deep groove demarcating the line between leg and abdomen. Arthur waited, expectant. “Come gutter.”

Arthur sat up on his elbows. “Come gutter.”

“Yep.”

They stared at each other, lips twitching, before finally dissolving into shaking, elated giggles.


End file.
